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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27801832">Breakfast in Bed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst'>winter_angst</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dribble Drabbles [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Curtain Fic, Fluff, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:22:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,620</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27801832</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>what the title says</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dribble Drabbles [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1527689</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Breakfast in Bed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A flourishing garden ran around the skirts of an old farmhouse. It was dominated mostly by summer annuals, clumsy bees gorging on the pollen before returning to their hive. The lawn was vast and carefully cut with fresh dew clinging to each blade. A line of serviceberries shielded it from the dirt road beyond. The drive to the house was long and snaking with dark gravel recently laid. Overhead the morning sky was vast and blue and a general air of well being settled around the house. It was more than a house however. It was a home; one that had been passed down through generations of Rollins. Once the property had extended by dozens of acres but as the kin of farmers started to draw away from their humble beginnings bits of land were sold over decades. Now the house was nestled comfortably on a lot of ten acres. There was a small grove of peaches and paw paws and beyond them was a small red shed where a John Deere lawn mower sat among the rest of the lawn equipment. </p><p>The farmhouse had been modernized over the years. A wood stove replaced by an octopus furnace and finally to a hot water heater. The storm cellar had old canned foods cycled out and replaced with MREs and fresh water. Additions were built on to house numerous children. It was still a modest home, not too spacious but still room aplenty, but it fit it’s current occupants well. Jack Rollins, the direct descendant from the line that had erected the home lived a happy life with his husband, Brock, and their son, TJ. Currently TJ was the only one awake, tip toeing with utmost care down the hallway. The walls were lined with photographs, new and glossy and old and faded. TJ didn’t know half the people but he knew they belonged in the house with them. He hopped over the squeaky floorboard and made quick work of the stairs. A tabby lounging on the overstuffed loveseat watched him pass by, the tip of her tail curling. </p><p>TJ was, as one would expect, on a mission. A secret mission that required all the stealth his little body could offer. He made it to the kitchen and a grin spread across his cherub face. His eyes were shone, bluish gray in color, and a hard glint of determination entered them. With a deep breath and a nod of intent, he carefully dragged a chair to the counter and started to pull down the stuff he knew his daddy used to make pancakes. The white bag filled with pillowy flour, the container with all those sweet granulates of sugar, a big glass bowl that he almost dropped but managed to hug to his chest. This was supposed to be a good surprise after all and breaking one of daddy’s favorite dishes would not be a good surprise at all. </p><p>Upstairs Jack Rollins laid, Brock’s head resting on his chest. He wasn’t certain what had woken him up until he heard a cupboard downstairs click shut. Jack had been a light sleeper all his life, Brock...not so much. Jack eased out of bed and Brock frowned a bit in his sleep but settled with ease once he was laying on the pillows. Jack stepped into a pair of sweatpants and padded out of the room, closing the door. There was no reason for Brock to rise so early on a Sunday. If there was one thing he loved it was sleeping in. Jack didn’t mind the squeaky floorboard knowing it wouldn’t wake Brock and that the person rummaging around in the kitchen was most definitely his son. He passed the couch, reaching out to pet their cat before stepping into the kitchen. It was a mess to say the least, a few eggs broken on the floor, flour spilled across the counter and onto the floor where it was congealing with egg whites. TJ was sitting on the counter stabbing a thick blob of something with a wooden spoon covered head to toe with flour and whatever it was in the bowl in his hair. </p><p>“What are we making this morning?” Jack asked. </p><p>TJ looked at him with a guilty smile. “I’m making breakfast in bed for you and daddy.” </p><p>“Are you now.” </p><p>“Yeah-huh. See?” </p><p>He pointed out the beige lump with a proud grin. Jack couldn’t find it in himself to be firm though he wasn’t looking forward to cleaning up the mess. “How about we give that batter another go.” </p><p>“It’s not good?” TJ said looking crestfallen. “I added all the right things!” </p><p>Jack stepped forward to see if it could be salvaged for the sake of his son’s feelings. Bits and pieces of brown egg shells stood out starkly and Jack offered his saddest smile. “There’s some egg shells in there. Hey, how about we do it together?” </p><p>TJ was always happy to help and any sadness he felt about his failed attempt was overshadowed by being able to help in the kitchen. Brock did most of the cooking but Jack wasn’t completely inept at cooking. He had survived almost twenty three years before he met Brock. Now it was a matter of being in practice or not. Toast, absolutely. Grilled cheese...maybe. He imagined pancakes were like grilled cheese. He disposed of the batter in the bowl and gave it a quick wash. He didn’t make any attempts toward the mess, not yet. Together they managed to form a proper batter and Jack was left to puzzle over which was better -- a griddle or a skillet? </p><p>“Which do you think?” </p><p>“Ummm… This one! It’s blue and that’s daddy’s favoritest color.” </p><p>Jack couldn’t argue with that so he selected the skillet. He put it on medium heat and dropped a generous amount of butter. Together they managed to make the vague shape of a pancake. It was trial and error. Some fell apart, others got burnt. Jack opened a window so it wouldn’t trigger the smoke detectors. They managed to make five that were up to par. Jack was relieved to turn off the burner. TJ got out the jug of juice, his little body struggling a bit with the weight until his father took the burden. Jack tasked TJ with finding the breakfast tray that was typically used on birthdays. Jack wasn’t unaware of the fact hte kitchen looked as if a tornado hadn’t through it but he disregarded it as a problem for later. For now he needed to make toast. </p><p>“Papa we forgot the bacon.” </p><p>Jack closed his eyes in defeat before he rummaged for the griddle and laid out half a packet of bacon. Thankfully fresh cooked bacon masked the smell of their failed pancakes and provided a good snack while TJ ran out to pick some annuals for decorations. He insisted that Brock needed flowers and Jack had to agree. He always complained about them, hiding the fact he really did enjoy them. If he didn’t he wouldn’t care for them as carefully as he did. When TJ returned and the flowers were resting in a mason jar the tray was complete. TJ beamed at him and Jack returned it. His excitement was infectious and Jack was interested to see what Brock would think about the random breakfast in bed. He tried not to think about what he’d think when he saw the state of his kitchen. </p><p>“Are we ready?” </p><p>“I think so.” </p><p>TJ led the way, skipping. He paused to scoop up the cat -- he didn’t want to leave anyone out of the main event of course -- and climbed up the stairs. He didn’t bother to skip over the floorboard this time and he wasn’t too quiet about pushing open the door. </p><p>Brock woke with a jolt as the door hit the wall eyes scoping out the source of the noise. TJ seemed to have realized the noise he made because he quickly apologized. Brock was still waking up so he stared dumbly at them as they entered. He overlooked the tray at first but as his brain started to power on all cylinders he zeroed in on it. </p><p>“Breakfast in bed?” He finally asked, voice rough with sleep. </p><p>“It was TJ’s idea.” </p><p>Brock pulled himself into a sitting position and Jack set down the tray. TJ clamored onto the bed and grinned. “It was my idea! Do you like it? It’s pancakes, see?” </p><p>“I see.” Brock looked down at the amount of food. “I hope you two are planning on helping with me eating this.” </p><p>“Yay!”</p><p>Jack had expected as much and gladly reached for a piece of bacon. Brock swatted his hand away. “Excuse me, I get the first piece.” </p><p>Jack laughed and Brock took a bite with an animated ‘yum’ for TJ’s sake. The little family feasted together and when it came time to bring the tray down Jack hesitated. “You should just relax up here for a bit.” he tried feebly. </p><p>Brock’s brown eyes narrowed immediately. “What did you do to my kitchen?” </p><p>“I’ll clean it.” </p><p>“Damn right you will.” Brock’s firmness dissipated and smiled. “Thanks for breakfast by the way.” </p><p>TJ was already gone, undoubtedly dressing up the cat. He had a collection of cat costumes he’d selected at the local discount box store when he was told he could have a treat. Thankfully the cat tolerated it. “It was TJ’s idea. I just made it edible… It was right?” </p><p>“I ate it didn’t I?” </p><p>“You would for TJ’s sake.” </p><p>“True. But it wasn’t bad. I’ll make a proper cook out of you yet.” </p><p>Jack laughed. “I may be a lost cause but give it a go.”</p>
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